


a half-laugh, and a half-moan (and it's the prettiest thing ive ever heard)

by kasuutan



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Costume Kink, Identity Porn, M/M, like 12 different canons all in one bc i couldnt be fucked honestly, pretty twink with dark hair and blue eyes emasculates his benefactor, title sounds like a damm panic at the disco song LMFAO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6593887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasuutan/pseuds/kasuutan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosmos Sex Tip #419- Make a dash to your local party store and pick yourself up a cape and a domino mask, because Gotham City’s latest trend is gonna make you wish you looked as good in scaly green panties as our favorite Boy Wonder does! Surprise your man in the bedroom by hiding your secret identity behind a sexy, mysterious mask. Let him know you are his next Boy Wonder, and he’ll be on his knees before you can even say “Ha Ha! Jokes on you, Batman!” </p><p>Kick everything up a notch with the licensed official Batman and Robin playkit, complete with a  full utility belt of fun BatToys and your own set of green shorties- unfortunately, no, the kit does not guarantee you’ll look nearly as toned as Robin Official. </p><p>also known as; everyone's boning as Batman and Robin, and it's making Dick's eyes cross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i think we should start seeing, no, being, other people

**Author's Note:**

> how did this happen this started as "lmao imagine -insert dumb prompt here- and then it turned into 10k of ??? help me  
> this is like. new 52 but also pre 52 but also yung justice but also btas all at the same time and i have no idea what to even make of this i dont know dont look at me just let it happen  
> you can skip chapter 2 if you dont want proclaimed disgusting garbage smut assaulting your eyes at maximum velocity  
> i think its already like 200% clear in the body text but dick is like a well aged adult who i guess is still prone to making bad life choices

Dick entered this friendship prepared to face the worst; possible druggings and kidnappings, potential maiming and severed limbs, and probably psychological trauma that would require incredible feats of therapy to reverse. This, though, he had definitely not prepared for. 

“ _What?!_ ” Dick spits his strawberry daiquiri all over the bar counter. Harley leans back, lips twisted in a grimace as she swats Dick’s spit off the tops of her hands. 

“Eeeeww, Dickie, whatcha do that for? Come on, I thought you were supposed to be my slutty best friend who doesn’t judge me for my bad life choices, I trusted you!” She turns her grimace into a full pout, shiny red lips glistening under the dingy dive bar lighting. Dick wipes his mouth with a napkin stained in lipstick marks and tries to think about religion. 

“No, no, Harley. I’m not. Judging you. Per se. I just. I think I must have misheard you.” Dick wipes his brow and knows he’ll regret asking, but- “What. Exactly. Did you say you and Pams did last night…?” And when Harley grins, the kind that reminds Dick of the Joker except times 200, Dick knows his life’s gone completely pear-shaped. 

“I _said_ we dressed up as Batman and Robin- except this time, Red let me be Batman!” Harley has this fucked-out look on her face, and Dick’s feeling pretty fucked up himself. 

It’s a bizarre situation to be in all the way around. Dick isn’t really sure how much Harley’s playing him- for all he knows, Harley absolutely knows who he is, it’s all some elaborate rouse put on by the Joker, trying to get in Dick’s head, get him to do something incredibly stupid, like, oh, he doesn’t know- _fuck Batman,_ or something equally as disturbing. 

The thing is, this _thing_ him and Harley have, Dick would dare to call it _friendship_ , it’s been a constant in Dick’s life for nearly eight months, without a single hitch. It’s not like Dick didn’t know, that night Dick drank _way_ too much during a Titan’s reunion at some Gotham night club, stumbled into one of the bathrooms, bumped into a pretty blonde on her way out of a stall, looked at each other for a _really_ long second, and then proceeded to simultaneously empty the contents of their stomachs onto each other’s shoes. Yeah, even during the resurfacing of Alfred’s chicken hot pot, Dick was acutely aware that he’d just vomited directly onto Harley Quinn’s shoes. 

He was acutely aware of the laughter that proceeded after, the fumbled clean-up that came with it, and then somehow, at some point, they’d ended up in the back seat of Dick’s car, sort of kind of trying to make out, and then- 

“You know, you’re sweet and all, but-” Harley pulls back, smacking her cherry-red lips together in a pout. Dick pulls back too, smooths a hand through his hair and says, 

“Too gay?” 

“You referring to yourself, or referring to me?” 

Dick shrugged. “Whichever works.” 

Harley sat up, fastening her bra with one hand, and extending the other in a handshake. 

“Harleen. But if I like ya, you get to call me Harley.” 

“...Dick.” 

“Rude! Just because I don’t wanna bone you doesn’t mean you get to call me names.” Harley stuck her tongue out, crossing her arms over her crooked bra, one nipple still hanging out over the edge of the cup. 

“No. That’s my name.” 

Harley blinked. “Oh. You must get stuff like this often.” 

 

And that’s how it started. Again, Dick’s prepared for the worst, expecting this entire, bizarre, completely unethical and straight up _wrong_ friendship to bite him in the ass, but of _all_ the things to go wrong, this is the _last_ one he was expecting. 

And, if he were being honest with himself, he’d much honestly rather deal with being tied up, kidnapped, dangled over a boiling vat, and dropped to his untimely, painful death, than deal with- 

“Oh Dickie, you gotta, gotta, _gotta_ try it!” 

Than deal with his best-friend-and-also-certified-criminal-super-villain telling him _she’s fucked her girlfriend while literally dressed as him and Batman._

“What’s the name of your man again, big ol’ Brucie Wayne? He’s _perfect,_ all big and strong, just like B-man!” 

Dick’s shot glass falls out of his hand and clatters noisily on the bar counter. 

“Please refill this.” The bartender looks at the empty, overturned glass.

“What was in it before?”  
“I don’t know. I don’t care. Put cyanide in it for all I care. Just please fill it with something.” 

“Mmm, Dickie, you’d look _real_ cute in a Robin outfit, you know? I know Brucie’s still playing hard to get with ya and all-” 

“I’m pretty sure being my legal guardian doesn’t constitute as playing hard to get.” 

Harley waves her hand in the air. “Details. Anyway, I’m _telling you,_ Brucie gets one look at you in those itsie bitsie teenie weenie green ‘n scaled lil panties, he’ll forget that you’re like. Related on a technical level.” 

Dick looks from his (depressingly) empty shot glass back to Harley, who’s now making this face, eyes scrunched up, roaming up and down his body in a manner so scrutinizing, Dick suddenly feels uncomfortable. Well. More uncomfortable than he already was, if that’s actually possible. 

“...What?” The minute he asks, he regrets. 

“I think you and I are probably the same size. I can loan you my Robin costume, if you want!” 

Dick wonders what she’d say, if he said she didn’t need to bother, because he’s got tons at home.

* * *

 

Bruce enjoys Selina’s company, he really does. As someone who, as a general rule of thumb, does not enjoy _anyone’s_ company, it comes with great merit that Bruce can openly state that yes, he does enjoy spending time with Selina Kyle. He’s come to trust her, come to see her as a sane, relatively normal, easy-going staple in his everyday life. Well, as relatively normal and sane as it is to be romantically involved with a cat burglar. But it could be worse. At least Catwoman doesn’t kill people. 

But, when Selina drops the box in front of him on her bed one night, Bruce is suddenly overcome with wishing she _had_ killed someone. Because honestly, that’d be easier to deal with than- 

“It’s a big fad right now, you know.”

_“Excuse me?”_

“Don’t you keep up with current trends, Bruce?” 

“...I don’t have much free time to read the tabloids.” Selina combs her nails through her hair. 

“That doesn’t surprise me. They are usually just about you, anyways.” Bruce just sits on the edge of the bed, stares at the folded fabric in the box like it’s about to catch fire. Ordinarily, Bruce associates the color combination with a happier time in his life, a reminder of when he used to actually smile more than once a year, when he used to be, as Tim usually says “just kind of sad, instead of incidentally emo.” Bruce still isn’t sure what that means, exactly. 

Now though, the bright red green gold that Bruce has always been so fond of is staring at him like an embodiment of sin and wrong-doing, and Bruce feels like enough has gone wrong in his life, what other-worldly being did he upset this time to have to- 

“Oh, here it is.” Selina returns from the bathroom with a rolled up magazine in her hand. She drops it beside the box, open to a page that’s been clearly dog-eared and read several times. 

_Cosmo Tips to SUPER Charge your Sex Life! Oh Batman,_ I’ll _be Your Next Boy Wonder!_

Bruce feels like every failure he’s ever experienced in his life, every wrong choice, every wrong decision, has culminated and lead up to this very moment. 

“Selina. You know, I’m a very straightforward person.” 

“Oh, I’m aware. The first time you asked permission to eat me out, you asked, I believe the quotation was ‘May I perform cunnilingus on you?’ So yes. I’m aware.” 

Bruce chooses to ignore her and stares back down at the magazine. 

“So. Please be clear with me. Are you honestly. Asking me to. Dress up as Batman. And bed you. While you’re dressed as Robin, the Boy Wonder.” 

To Selina’s credit, she barely reacts. She raises one eyebrow slightly, so it touches the ends of her bangs. 

“Oh, Bruce, dear. No. You’ve got it all mixed up.” 

Bruce sighs in relief. Of course, it’s all just a misunder-

“ _I’m_ dressing up as Batman.” 

 

 

When Alfred inquires later, with all due respect Master Bruce, but what brought on the sudden termination of your relationship with Ms. Kyle? Bruce doesn’t have the heart to answer him properly, just looks at him and says 

“Our interests were clashing.”

* * *

 

“I mean, they don’t even _know_ Robin isn’t just one person, I bet? They don’t know what they’re doing!” Dick shoves an entire pancake into his mouth and chews ferociously, brows knitted into something so awful, Jason reaches forward and pokes them with the end of his syrup-sticky knife. 

It’s 2am at the 24 hour iHop, and they’re literally still suited up, but in Gotham, nothing makes any sense anymore, and the waitress doesn’t even seem perturbed as she stops by the table and gives Jason a, like, fourth glass of his vanilla iced coffee. 

“Denial is unhealthy.” 

“I’m not denying anything!” Dick feels his voice get shrill, and he chugs down half a glass of water before trying again. “How are you so unaffected by this? It’s just as much about you as it is me, not me personally. ”

Jason raises a brow and cuts into his pancakes, shaking his head to the rhythm of the distorted, dystopic KOIT radio playing through the almost empty iHop. 

“Okay, then don’t take it personally.” 

“Who said I was taking it personally?!” Dick looks ready to pull one of his escrima sticks out of his holster and whack Jason onto the ground. 

“Uh? You?” Jason wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “I wake up at like 1:30 to your ugly mug filling up my phone screen and my first thought is oh, which member of our adoptive fucked up family’s gone zombie on us this time? Instead, we’re sitting here, at iHop at ass oclock in the morning, discussing your budding love affair with Batman.” Dick opens his mouth, starts to stand from the booth like he’s preparing to fight to the death for his dignity, but Jason just picks up his fork and starts picking at his teeth. 

“And frankly, Nightwing, it’s getting _boring_.”

Dick deflates into the booth again and starts spinning the salt shaker around on the surface of the counter. 

“Are you r _eally_ not bothered by this?” 

“Elaborate on this. If you mean your Batman kink, then yeah, I’m bothered by it because it’s been literally how long since I first met you, and you still haven’t resolved it.” 

“No- I, what? I don’t have a- I meant the whole thing with people dressing up as. You know. Old us.” 

Jason kicks back into his side of the booth, flipping his butter knife around in his hand to look at himself in the reflection of the metal. 

“Not really. I think it’s kinda funny, honestly. The kinda shit that would only happen in Gotham.” Dick keeps fiddling with the salt shaker, refusing to make any sort of eye contact. 

“So, WingBat. Why are _you_ so bothered by it?” 

“Because it’s fucking weird???” 

Jason shrugs, stabs into a pancake with the end of his knife and cuts it down the center. 

“‘S’only weird if you let it affect you. Why’re you letting it affect you _so_ badly, Golden Boy?” 

Dick opens his mouth to answer, stops, and flicks his eyes back down at the salt shaker. Jason sighs, reclines back into the booth, and tosses the butter knife up in the air before catching it on its way down. 

“Thought so. Now. If you’ll excuse me. I have things to do. Like jack off to normal, wholesome shit. Take your Batman kink elsewhere and figure your life out.” 

It’s only when Dick screams out “I don’t HAVE a Batman kink!!!” that the waitress finally turns around and looks at him funny.

* * *

 

**Cosmos Sex Tip #419** \- Make a dash to your local party store and pick yourself up a cape and a domino mask, because Gotham City’s latest trend is gonna make you _wish_ you looked as good in scaly green panties as our favorite Boy Wonder does! Surprise your man in the bedroom by hiding your _secret_ identity behind a sexy, mysterious mask. Let him know you _are_ his next Boy Wonder, and he’ll be on his knees before you can even say “Ha Ha! Jokes on _you_ , Batman!”   
  
Kick everything up a notch with the licensed official Batman and Robin playkit, complete with afull utility belt of _fun_ BatToys and your own set of green shorties- unfortunately, no, the kit does not guarantee you’ll look nearly as toned as Robin Official.

* * *

 

“This is just upsetting.” 

“Oh, Timmy, lighten up. As someone who has actually been on both the receiving

and giving end of our favorite Boy Wonder, I think it’s absolutely hilarious.” 

“Okay, first off, _ew_ , _stop,_ and second, doesn’t this upset you a little bit? Like, what if Damian sees this stuff? He’s never going to be able to look at his dad again like, _ever._ ”

“He’ll be fine. Demon spawn doesn’t even know what a magazine is. I tried to tell him a Laffy Taffy joke once, and you know what he asked me? ‘What’s Laffy Taffy?’ Someone needs to take that kid outside.”

_“I can literally hear everything you’re all saying._ And for the record, _Brown,_ I _do_ know what a Laffy Taffy is, and just to clarify, those jokes are _heinous._ ”

“Robin! Why do I always have to- forget it. No names over the comm, you know that. And the rest of you- _I can also hear everything you’re all saying._ ”

“...Oh. Yikes. I thought I put Nightwing’s earpiece on mute.” 

“Oracle, I trusted you.” 

_“Oracle, do NOT put me on mute!”_

“Oracle out.” 

“Red Robin out.” 

“ _Guys!”_

* * *

 

It was funny, for a little bit. Enjoyable, even. It gave the rest of the family something to laugh about, something to give Dick shit for (as if there wasn’t already enough to give Dick shit for)

But it’s when Barbara finds Dick in his room, his old bedroom in the manor buried under his sheets, she thinks oh, shit, maybe we went a little bit too far. 

Barbara is one of the few (un)fortunate souls to intimately know Dick Grayson from head to toe. She knows his favorite kind of music is actually Filipino emo rock, even though his iTunes library is just filled with bad trap remixes of top 40s hits that he claims are good for working out. She knows his favorite color isn’t actually blue, it’s red, like the color of her hair, and, probably the real reason, the color he, even now, years and years later, feels like he _should_ still be wearing. 

Despite this, Barbara has seen Dick cry a total of 3 times, and all 3 of those times have involved someone dying, almost dying, or coming back from having died. So, seeing Dick like this now, buried beneath 700 thread count sheets in a bed that’s too small for him, in a room that hasn’t grown like he has, has Barbara incredibly, incredibly confused. 

“...Dick?” She rolls her wheelchair over to the side of Dick’s bed and he immediately turns so his back is to her. He doesn’t say anything. 

“You’re missing movie night.” Nothing. “Damian tried to pick a slasher movie but. You know how Tim feels about those. So Bruce said we’re watching _Dirty Dancing_. He sent me to come get you. Said it was your favorite.” Barbara smiles to herself, but it’s sad around the edges, a little regretful. She knows Dick Grayson head to toe intimately, knows what he looks like when he cries, knows what his lips feel like when he smiles. But she didn’t know- Dick never mentioned his favorite movie was _Dirty Dancing_. 

She knows Dick Grayson intimately, from head to toe, but Bruce knows him, from beneath his skin to the edges of his soul. 

Barbara places a hand on top of Dick’s sheets- there’s more thread in this single sheet than in my entire linen closet, she thinks to herself- and smoothes down his shoulder. He doesn’t turn to face her, but she feels him stiffen, shudder once, then relax into the bed. 

“This is about him, isn’t it?” Dick pulls the covers up higher over his head, so Barbara can only see the tips of his hair peeking out from beneath the blanket. Barbara sighs. She knows this game. Dick’s a lot of things, but _quiet-_

“I tried _so_ hard, Babs.” He’s still not facing her, voice muffled by the thickness of the down comforter, but Barbara can hear him just fine. 

“Tried so hard at what, Dick?” He sighs heavy beneath the sheets, curls in tighter on himself, like he’s trying to make himself small, make himself fit on this bed that doesn’t suit him anymore, become the right size for this room he’s outgrown. 

“You know, when I was a kid, I thought I was in love with him.” Dick says it like it’s supposed to be something shocking to Barbara, but frankly, it isn’t. She doesn’t say as much, just stays quiet and lets him continue. 

“I did everything I could just to get him to look at me, smile and say ‘Good job, Robin.’” Dick laughs to himself, quiet and bitter sounding. “It’s stupid how happy that’d make me.” Barbara reads between the lines, hears the unsaid _it’s stupid how happy it still makes me._

“Then I was 15 and he stopped saying it. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, he just stopped telling me what a good job I was doing.

“So I was 16 and I was wearing my jeans too tight, my shirts too small. I always had something in my mouth, like a pen or a piece of candy, or something. Like I thought that’d make him look at me again, you know how fucked up that is?” Barbara does, but she doesn’t say as much. She lets him keep talking. 

“So I’m 17 and I think I’m in love with him, think that needing him is the same thing as falling in love. And then I’m 18 and he sends me away.” Barbara knows this story. They all know this story. 

“And then I’m 19 and there’s a new Robin to love instead. And I realize it’s not _me_ he loves, it’s _Robin,_ and that isn’t me, not anymore. And I think I hate him, but really, it’s just another way of saying I’m in love with him. ” And finally, Dick turns around, and Barbara gets a good look at his face, raw red around the edges of his eyes, teeth worrying at chapped lips. 

“Then I’m 20 and I meet you.” They don’t have to say anything. Dick’s hand slides out from beneath the blanket and Barbara wraps his fingers in his and she thinks to herself yeah, they can still have this. And that’s good enough- no, the best- for her. 

“And it takes me all these years to unteach myself what I thought falling in love meant, because trust me Barbara, I fell in love with you _hard_.” And _oh_ , Barbara trusts him, she knows. She never doubted him for a second. Dick turns their hands over, runs his thumb over the tops of her knuckles like he has countless, countless times in the past. But it feels different now, and Barbara doesn’t mind that. She smiles. 

“And I never fell _out_ of love with you, either.” And neither did she. 

“You never fell out of love with him, either.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question or an accusation, it’s a statement. They don’t let go of each other’s hands, and there’s no tightening of grip or exchange of sharp glances like the first time this came up. Barbara understands. She turns Dick’s hand over and runs circles over his knuckles. Like she has countless, countless times before. 

“And now. I’m 26, and I open magazines and it’s me and him, except it’s not because it was _never_ like that. I wanted it to be, 16 year old me _wanted_ it to be, but I didn’t even know what I _wanted,_ not really. I thought I was in love but I wasn’t, not then, at least.

“But then I’m reading these shitty articles- by the way, they’re _not_ panties, it’s actually a leotard- and they remind me of what it felt like, that need to be noticedand then it just- well fuck, I’m 26 and this time _I am_ in love with Bruce Wayne. With Batman. With him. And that’s just.” Finally, Dick laughs. And it’s a sound that suits him, always has, and even now, even with the way they are, it still manages to make Barbara’s heart warm. 

“I tried _so hard,_ Barbara.” 

“I know you did, Dick.” And Dick makes a noise, halfway between a groan and sob of irritation. He sits up from the bed, finally, knocking the covers down to his knees. He scoots up and sits against the headboard and crosses his arms against his chest. Barbara looks at him, hair matted to one side of his head from being mashed against the pillow, petulance in his posture and in his face. Like this, it’s like he’s 16 again, juvenile and maybe even a little bit scared, like it’s the first time he’s fallen in love, even though Barbara knows it isn’t. 

“I get that it’s funny to all of you. Out of perspective, I guess it is. Half the city’s got a Dynamic Duo costume suit in their closet, and I guess that is kind of funny. But to me, it just feels like you’re all- the entire city, like everyone’s just.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. 

“Like you’re all laughing at me. But that’s- it isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is, I feel like I should be laughing at me, too. Not-” Dick gestures around himself vaguely. “Not. Like this.” 

Dick takes in a breath and exhales hard, rests his head against his knee and looks at Barbara, fondness in his eyes, open and unguarded and Barbara thinks yeah, we still have everything. 

She reaches forward and runs her fingers through his hair, moving it into the right place, getting the knots out of the ends and away from his face. 

“Sorry I laughed. I already knew- know, more like- so I shouldn’t have.” 

“S’fine. Like I said. It _should_ be funny.” 

“What are you going to do?” Dick looks at her like she’s grown two heads. 

“What do you mean what am I going to do? Nothing, obviously.” Barbara raises an eyebrow. 

“You just waxed poetically to me about the development of your Batman kink over the last 10 years of your life, and now you’re telling me you’re not going to do anything about it?” 

“...Why do people keep saying I have a- never mind.” Dick swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands behind Barbara’s wheelchair, wrapping his hands around the push bars. “What do you expect me to do? _Tell him how I feel?_ What are you, the advice column from Teen Vogue?” 

“You’re the one who’s inspired an entire issue of Cosmos. If anyone’s a bad tabloid magazine, it’s you. Imagine the headline it’d make- Dick Grayson, Former Ward, Current Lover? Bruce Wayne Spices his Love Life with Secret Taboo Love Affair.” 

They laugh, smile, and yeah, they have everything. 

“Thanks for putting up with me, Babs.” He leans down, places a kiss on the top of her head. She reaches behind her, wraps her hands around his and squeezes tight. 

“Who would if I didn’t, Boy Wonder?” 

Dick squeezes back. 

We don’t need to be _in_ love to love. Not the way we do. 

 

It’s been six weeks since the start of Gotham City’s hottest trend, and while Bruce has absolutely perfected the art of awkward silence, even _he_ isn’t comfortable with the growing rift between himself and the Boy Wonder who, at this point, is as much of a boy as he is. 

This shouldn’t be such an ordeal to him, Bruce knows this. They’ve gone significantly longer without a single word, as unfortunate as that might be. It’s not the silence that bothers Bruce though, no, it’s the concept of _why._

“Master Bruce. Please forgive me for interrupting your elongated process of doing absolutely nothing, but you have a call from Master Timothy.” Alfred says it with zero malice or disrespect, even sets down a tray of white-tuna and cucumber sandwiches, but it only highlights how incredibly unproductive the last six weeks of tight lipped silence has made Bruce. He scowls, but takes the call anyways. 

“Red Robin, status.” Is what Bruce says, but what he really means is _where are you, you were due to be home at 19:45, it’s well passed 20._

“Sorry, Batman, but I’m gonna have to rain check on patrol tonight. Titans distress call, you know how it goes.” 

“...Of course. Report back later to check in.” 

“Gotcha. Red Robin out- oh, by the way. I already sent Nightwing on his way, so you won’t have to go solo tonight.” Bruce nearly knocks the tray of sandwiches off the computer console. 

“That was unnecessary, Red Robin. Robin is-” 

“-on the elongated overnight school trip _you_ sent him on. Remember, he left the front yard hedges bald when you told him you’d already approved his attendance.” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. And this is his thanks for trying to adapt his son to social situations. 

“Well, Batgirl-”

“-is out of state with Spoiler, investigating a trafficking ring that _you_ said might have affiliations with the Hatter.” 

“...And Hood-”

“-said, and I quote, ‘Hell fucking no, the Old Bat and Golden Boy have to deal with their own shit, take a message for me, Red.’ -his words, not mine.” 

“...What happened to being there for family…” Bruce says it mostly to himself, but Tim clicks his tongue on the other end of the line. 

“You might have forgotten since you haven’t looked at each other properly in the last few weeks, but just a reminder, Nightwing _is_ family.” 

“Hh.” Tim sighs.   
“Figure it out, Batman. Red Robin out.” 

The comm clicks to a hush and Bruce stares up at the stalactites on the cave ceiling, and, for just a brief moment, envisions one falling down on him, so he could avoid- what exactly _is_ he trying to avoid? 

“Master Timothy is quite right, sir. It would be, after all, for your best benefit, if you were to sort out whatever strange rift you have going with Master Dick.” Bruce stands from the computer, sandwiches untouched, and begins gathering his belt and gloves. 

“There is nothing _going_ between me and Dick.” Alfred sighs that same, perfected kind of sigh that expresses his utmost disappointment in one gesture. 

“Perhaps that’s the problem.”

“I don’t follow, Alfred.” 

“Of course you don’t, sir.” Bruce frowns, but Alfred doesn’t elaborate, just picks up the tray of half eaten sandwiches and dusts off the bread crumbs from the computer console. 

_“Recognized. B01, Nightwing.”_

The cave entrance parts for Nightwing, Wingcycle rolling into its place beside the Batcycle like there’s absolutely nothing wrong (which there isn’t, Bruce reminds himself.) 

“Heya, Alfred- ooh, tuna? Can I?” Nightwing gestures to the plate, which Alfred holds out to him at arm’s length. 

“Certainly. As you know, Master Bruce has the tendency to avoid meals when otherwise preoccupied.” Dick falters, pauses mid-chew around a sandwich. 

“...Mhm. Right.” He swallows thickly and licks his teeth beneath his lips. Bruce grunts and lifts his cowl up over his head. 

“You’re late.” Is all Bruce can think of saying. Dick stares at him briefly, probably blinks at him from beneath his domino, but turns away without saying a word. He maneuvers to the passenger side of the Batmobile, slides into the car like everything’s the same as it used to be, but Bruce can’t help but notice the way his legs fill out the seat now, instead of dangling above the floor, toes barely brushing the carpet. 

Bruce pulls out of the cave and speeds out onto the road, rides towards the artificial lights of the city herself. 

It takes a couple of minutes for Bruce to notice the car is quiet. In the past, Dick was one to fiddle with the radio, dialing into the Top 40s station before Bruce could object. Even if they didn’t have anything to talk about, Dick would fill silence with humming, whistling, or mumble-singing beneath his breath. 

Bruce looks to his side, and Nightwing’s just sitting there, head turned and looking out the window. 

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. 

“We’re looking into an undocumented cargo load at the ports. Suspected to be a mass drug smuggle.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Dick lean his arm against the side door, propping his chin in his palm. He doesn’t say anything.

“I could have handled this myself.” Dick hums noncommittally, keeps his head turned towards the window, and still says nothing. Bruce feels his fingers twitch. He turns a very sharp right towards the docks and knocks Dick into the side of the car. 

“Jesus, Bruce. If you don’t want me to be here, just tell me. You don’t have to knock me out of the damn car.” Bruce grinds his teeth, but at least Dick is looking at him now. 

“You’re the one who clearly doesn’t want to be here. You haven’t said a thing to me, even when you walked into the cave.” 

“Hey, _I_ was the one who got called to be here. I just did what I was told.” 

“ _I_ wasn’t the one who asked for you to come.”

“And _I_ didn’t ask _to_ come!” 

“Well, you showed up anyways, didn’t you?” He hears Dick inhale sharply, but doesn’t have anything to retort with. They ride the rest of the way towards the ports in red-tinged silence. 

Bruce pulls the car behind a dumpster, and Nightwing jumps out without waiting for instructions, scales a building, and disappears from sight. Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose through his cowl. He doesn’t even know what they’re arguing about. He follows, grappling to the side of the gutter and pulling up behind Dick. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side. He doesn’t move when Bruce steps in behind him, just stares down at the empty dock, waiting for the cargo ship to come through. 

“You didn’t wait for instruction.” Dick looks up at him, lips twisted so his expression reads as some sort of disbelief. Beneath his domino mask, Bruce imagines that his eyes are narrowed. 

“I’m not twelve, Batman. I know how to do a stakeout.”Bruce tightens his lips until they’re one, straight thin line. 

“Then stop acting it.” 

Bruce regrets saying it the minute it slips from his mouth, but’s already been said, and Dick’s standing, coming up to his full height.Bruce is sure he’s noticed it before, but it comes down suddenly that Dick’s _not_ twelve, hasn’t been twelve in ages, can look him straight in the eye with defiance Bruce would have never imagined seeing in Dick Grayson, age twelve. 

“ _I’m_ acting twelve? You’re the one who hasn’t said a word to me in weeks. I tried calling you, last week, wanted to see if you had time to grab lunch. Nothing but radio silence, B.” Dick looks down at the ground, hair falling around his face to cover his mask.“...What did I do this time?” 

And in this moment, Bruce feels every day his age, looking at Robin- no, Nightwing- no, Dick- who refuses to look at him, refuses to make eye contact, because he’s learned from experience, learned from rejection. 

And Bruce is 100% guilty of being the reason he’s learned. 

“D-Nightwing, no. I-” 

There’s movement below at the docks, cargo ship pulling up to the loading port, and Dick snaps to attention, and it hurts Bruce how well trained he is, ready to push away emotion for the sake of a mission he wasn’t even meant to be part of. 

“Seven men visible, armed, but nothing too dangerous. Two in the truck, four on the dock, one just ran inside. Most likely more inside.” Bruce, uncharacteristically, wants to say fuck the mission, let them have their cocaine, I need to take you home, talk to you, because you deserve that, and I- 

“Take the men outside. I’ll work from the inside out.” 

“Understood.” 

“And Nightwing.” 

“Yeah, boss?” 

“...You didn’t do anything.” 

Bruce jumps from the roof, and, between the wind blowing his cape and the thud of his landing, he almost doesn’t hear Dick mumble “alright.” 

 

Without any surprise to either party, the boat is in fact loaded with coke, a majority of the men fled the docks just from a brief glance at the Batman’s shadow, and those who stayed were easily apprehended- Dick or Bruce could have easily had the entire operation shut down with one arm missing and a paralyzed foot. 

It was the most difficult drug bust either of them had ever had to deal with, _ever._ Somewhere between a roundhouse kick and a double somersault, Dick managed to

trip on the edge of Batman’s cape, knocking both of them down to the ground, dislocating Nightwing’s jaw, and pulling Batman’s left knee out of its socket. Between panicked “Sorry! Sorry!”’s, Batman missed a punch he wouldn’t have dared miss while sedated, and knocked into Nightwing instead. At the very least, he re-located his jaw on impact. 

“I. I’ll get Commissioner Gordon on the comm. To. Pick all these guys up.” Nightwing’s rubbing his jaw, a dark bruise forming beneath his chin. He’s looking sheepish, avoiding eye-contact, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Batman nods once, and Nightwing disappears behind the building. 

“What the hell was that?” It’s one of the tied up men, clearly still conscious enough to make smart comments. 

“Yeah, seriously. Some Bat you are.” 

“Probably distracted by the boy toy- you read all those articles recently? It’s everywhere.” 

“Yeesh, gross. Hey, Bat Brains, can I go to jail yet? I don’t wanna be stuck here while you and the Bat Boy suck face, no one wants to see that.” Batman inhales sharply and leans down. 

“If I don’t get some quiet, I will personally blind you, so you don’t have to see _anything._ Do I make myself clear?” 

“...Rodger dodger, Bat.” 

Batman turns to the sound of light footsteps. 

“GCPD are on their way. Gordon says hello and thanks, as always. So I think we’re done here. Shall we?” Batman grunts in acknowledgement and starts in the direction of the car. 

“Yeah, get outta here! Get a room!” 

“Get some ass, B-man!” 

They leave, exaggerated moans of _‘Oh, Batman!’_ quieting in the distance. 

“Even coke dealers think we’re- well.” Batman doesn’t respond, just grapples to the top of a building and swings onto the roof. He doesn’t need to turn around to know Nightwing’s following. 

“Batman. Hey. Batman.” 

“I can finish the rest of patrol from here, Nightwing. You’re dismissed.” There’s a harsh tug on his cape and instinctually, Batman wants to knock whoever’s grabbing him down. Instead, he stops. Nightwing still has his cape in his hand, fabric clenched between his fingers. 

“You’re avoiding me. Why?” 

“Go _home,_ Nightwing.” Batman- no, Bruce- hopes it sounds like an order, but it comes out like a plead, like he’s- 

“No, I won’t. You said I didn’t do anything wrong, but you won’t even _look_ at me. Cut it out, B. What’d I do? What did I-”

“You didn’t do _anything_.” Bruce inhales and turns. His cape falls from Dick’s hands and drapes around his body like a curtain. “You didn’t do anything then, you haven’t done anything now. Every single time I’ve pushed you away, you hadn’t done anything. Do you understand that?” From behind Dick’s domino, Bruce is sure he’s blinking. He opens his mouth to respond, but he supposes Dick hasn’t thought that far through, yet. He closes it in silence. 

“Do you remember when you were sixteen, Dick?” Dick stiffens, because Br- Batman _never_ slips names on patrol.“When you used to sit on the edge of my desk while I was working and push my papers around until I looked at you?” Even in the dark, Bruce can see Dick’s cheeks flush, and he turns his head away quickly. 

“Look, B- I don’t-” 

“I couldn’t help thinking- what the hell _I’d_ done wrong, to make you seek so desperately for attention, for _my_ attention.” 

“God, I was _sixteen_ Bruce, sixteen and lonely and probably fucked up. I just wanted you to love me, but you-”

“But I did, Dick.” 

“Oh, you had a really funny way of showing it then. Practically ignoring me until I was eighteen, then surprise! Happy Birthday! Get the hell out of my house!” Dick makes a shoo-ing motion with his hands, fingers shaking as he talks. He lets them fall to his sides, and says more to himself than to anyone else, “I just wanted to know you loved me.” 

“I wasn’t _supposed_ to love you, Dick.” 

“Tell the media that, then. They seem to think it’s just fine.” Dick motions to a store below them, a small adult goods store and, unsurprisingly, right in the store window, Batman and Robin costumes, albeit with a bit more shiny pleather and less practicality. Bruce covers his face with his hand and sighs, heavy. 

“But it isn’t, Dick, and you know that it isn’t. It wasn’t okay then, and it isn’t okay now. Do you understand that?” And Bruce says it like an ultimatum, wants to put this behind him, put this behind them, so they can be normal, wants Dick to say yes, he understands, so Bruce can stop his chest from pounding too loudly, stop his eyes from lingering a little too long on the curve of Dick’s jaw. 

“...No.” It’s the last answer Bruce wants to hear. He opens his mouth to reiterate, explain more, but Dick cuts him off. 

“No. Shut up. For one second, shut up. All I understand, Bruce, is that you keep making decisions for me. Over and over and over again. You _decided_ for _me_ that sending me away was what would be best. Did you ever, I don’t know, _consider_ if that was what I wanted?” Dick pauses to let Bruce respond, but he doesn’t, and Dick doesn’t expect him to, either. 

“Do you know how it was?” He stops again. Bruce doesn’t respond. 

“Lonely. All it did was make me lonely. If you expected it to make me stop loving you- well.” Dick laughs, but it’s humorless, not the kind Bruce loves to hear, the kind that thawed him from the inside out, slowly, slowly, slowly- 

“I thought it would, too. But it didn’t. It hasn’t.” Dick raises his hands over his head. “And maybe that’s stupid! Maybe I should just get over it and hate you. But I haven’t, and that’s the decision I’ve made.” Dick steps forward, until they’re nearly chest-to-chest, and there aren’t very many things that make Bruce want to retreat, but _oh_ , he wants to, but Dick, Dick isn’t going to let him. 

“And you. Cannot decide for _me_. How I’m supposed to feel. Especially about you.” Dick jabs a finger into Bruce’s chest, and logically, Bruce shouldn’t be able to feel it through the inches thick kevlar covering his entire body, but he _can_ feel it, can feel the accusation of Dick’s gesture, and then the warmth of his hand, as he splays his palm out against his chest. 

“If you don’t want this, fine. Tell me that, and I’ll let it go. But don’t _ever_ hide behind the excuses of what’s best for _me,_ because you’re too afraid to let yourself feel anything.” 

They stand like that, immobile, Dick’s hand pressed against Bruce’s chest, and Bruce is certain Dick can feel the pounding of his pulse against his palm. If he can, he doesn’t say anything, and they just stand like that, immobile. 

“...Okay. I understand. I won’t say anything else about this again.” 

And when he catches his wrist, Bruce feels every day his age, feels every single second Dick’s warmed him, chiseled through the ice and carved him a smile. Bruce feels every year pass, every birthday wish and candle blown out between lips that, despite the years, he’s feeling for the first time, ever. When they pull back he’s looking at Robin-no, Nightwing, no, Dick- and maybe, _maybe,_ it’s okay to stop hiding. 


	2. why are you like this? (and why am i letting you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dick digs up the old spandex and bruce tells him to put that shit back where it came from or so help him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i  
> well  
> good bye  
> this has no editing so im sorry if theres shit in here that clearly makes no sense or is just straight up bad

When Bruce looks at him, Dick thinks he’s made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

He wore this for 8 years. It was practically a second skin to him. Bruce has definitely seen him in less. 

And yet, he feels completely, 100% uncomfortably naked, in his bright green panties and tiny pixie boots. 

How he managed to wear this nightly for so long, Dick isn’t sure. 

“What? I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” 

“Take that off.” 

“Wow, a bit eager, don’t you think?”

“No, as in, take it off and change into normal clothes.” 

Dick squirms in place, shifting weight from one pixie-booted foot to the other. 

“So, confirmed, Robin costume doesn’t do anything for Batman official?” 

“How did you even manage to fit in that?” 

“I don’t. I don’t know if you remember, but Robin definitely didn’t wear a crop top to fight crime-” Dick pauses. He looks at Bruce, hard. When Bruce visibly looks away, he can’t help himself. He smirks. 

“You’re avoiding the question.” 

“Get dressed.” 

Dick steps forward and kneels on the bed, mattress sinking beneath his weight. Bruce scoots further up the bed, like he’s trying to stay as far away from Dick as humanly possible. 

“But _Batman_ …” Dick’s purring, and Bruce looks like he’s going to pop a blood vessel. “I’m already dressed.” 

“This wasn’t my idea.” Bruce is straining, but he’s not stopping Dick from straddling his lap and wrapping his arms around Bruce’s neck. 

“Oh, I know. You have 70% of Gotham’s population to blame. Who was it that told me- oh, it was Jason. He did say this was the kind of thing that’d only happen in Gotham.”

“Please don’t talk about Jason right now. He also wore this at one point.” 

Dick throws his head back and laughs, and he feels Bruce’s entire body tense below him. 

“Gotcha. No Jaybird. _I’m_ Robin tonight.” 

“I hate this.” Despite himself, Bruce raises his hands, but lets them hover awkwardly above Dick’s waist, like he’s conflicted with himself on whether to push Dick away and take a cold shower, or press him down onto his hips. 

Dick, for once, makes the decision for _him,_ and presses his weight down, rolling his hips against Bruce’s lap. Bruce shivers, and he hums. 

“Dick I-” Dick raises a finger to Bruce’s mouth, presses hard against the line of his lips. 

“Uh-uh. Remember, no names on patrol? You taught me that, remember?” Bruce draws his lip between his teeth and bites so hard, Dick’s worried he’s going to pierce right through it. 

“Nightwing-” Dick cocks his head to one side, gives him a blank look while he rolls his hips down again.

“Who’s Nightwing?” He trails his hand across Bruce’s mouth and hooks his thumb between his lips. Bruce tries to grunt, but it comes out strained, like a cross between a whimper and a groan. 

“...Robin.” And Dick- _Robin-_ grins, all white teeth and dangerously devious. He pulls his thumb out of Bruce’s mouth with a _pop!_ and drags his nails down Bruce’s bare arms. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, right B?” He leans in, licks a line across Bruce’s jaw, down his neck and bites at the tip of his collar bone. 

“This is cruel.” 

“I don’t hear you stopping me, _Batman._ ” And Bruce’s hips leave the bed, buck straight up into Dick’s weight, hard outline of his cock pressed right up in between his legs. Dick laughs, breathy and fucked over in Bruce’s ear, like he’s riding the best high of his life. 

“Take it easy, partner. You can’t tire yourself out right away, you haven’t trained me yet.” 

“Why are you _like_ this?” Dick leans back and licks his lips, looking down at Bruce with a purely unadulterated expression.

“Years and years of repression. And hey, I was born to perform.” 

And he _was._ Bruce is helpless, and if someone really wanted to assassinate him, all they’d have to do is sneak up on him while Dick is in his lap, because _fuck,_ all walls are down, Bruce is open, vulnerable, absorbed. 

Dick starts shimmying down the bed, back arched in a perfect crescent as the sheets ruck up beneath his legs. The shine of the green spandex frames his ass like a picture frame, and Bruce honestly, wants to die. 

Thumbs hook in the waistband of his briefs and Bruce looks down, sees Dick looking up at him from between his thick lashes, lenses of the old Robin domino popped out to reveal glassy, doe-like eyes. Bruce groans, rakes one hand through his hair, and fists the other one in Dick’s. 

“Having fun?” Dick’s nosing at his cock, straining his briefs to the point of pain. He darts his tongue out and licks from base to head, wetting the fabric making it cling to his length. Bruce doesn’t respond, just moans and winds Dick’s dark hair in his fingers. 

“Mm, that makes two of us. You want something, B? I’m waiting for your orders.” Dick _winks,_ honest to god _winks,_ and Bruce knows damn well he isn’t in the position to be giving orders right now. 

“Your mouth-” Dick raises a brow, opens his mouth and lets his tongue hang out. 

“My mouth what, Batman?” He licks his lips, and tilts his head, playing clueless. Bruce groans, clacks his teeth together, tries to gain some sort of composure. 

“Your mouth on my cock, Robin.” Well, fuck it, Bruce thinks to himself at this point, just fuck it. “Now.” He throws it in for added effect, gives Dick’s hair a good tug, and it gets the job done. He feels Dick shudder below him, a little whine caught in the back of his throat. He shakes his head and tries to reign in control. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, right?” He drags Bruce’s briefs down slowly, scratches his nails against his hips as he goes. His cock springs out, stiff and leaking, and it pokes Dick in the cheek obscenely. 

“That though- that’s hard.” Bruce frowns, tugs Dick’s hair a little because now is really not the time for puns. 

“Sorry, boss, sorry. I’ll get to work.” And Bruce watches, watches as the tip of his cock presses past Dick’s lips, all wet and shiny and plush. Dick lets his eyes flutter closed, long lashes kissing the flush of his cheekbones. He hums around the weight, and Bruce pets through his hair, trying to anchor himself to some sort of reality. Dick sinks himself down a little bit more, wraps his fist around the base where he can’t quite reach. When he pulls up, he kisses the tip before swirling his tongue into the slit, lapping up the precum like it’s sugar on a lolipop. 

“Alright, boss?” Dick asks because he needs the confirmation, won’t ever say it, but it’s always been like this, needs Bruce to tell him he’s doing good, needs that reassurance more than anything else. Bruce knows this now, rubs his thumb into Dick’s scalp in tight circles as he tries to collect himself enough to respond. 

“Perfect, D- _Robin,_ you’re doing perfect.” And Dick’s eyes glaze over, arousal spiking from the tips of his toes to the backs of his eyes. He lowers his head down again, whining around the thick weight of Bruce filling up his mouth. He keeps going, until his lips brush against the knuckles of his fist. Dick moves his hands and braces them on Bruce’s hips. He inhales deeply through his nose, and pushes himself down. 

When the tip bumps the back of his throat, Dick chokes and, _god_ , is it something. Nose buried deep in Bruce’s pubic hair, he can feel tears tickling the corners of his eyes, can hear Bruce struggling with a moan, fingers getting tight in his hair. He lets Bruce pull him up, scalp burning something perfect as he takes in a deep breath and blinks the tears out of his eyes. 

“Be careful. Don’t want my pretty bird getting hurt.” Bruce brushes a finger under Dick’s eyes, runs it over the corners of his mouth to wipe precum away. He darts his tongue out to tickle the tips of his fingers, and Bruce shudders, full body. 

“What kind of Boy Wonder would I be if I couldn’t take that much?”Bruce raises a brow, runs his hand down Dick’s spine as he leans forward, pressing himself into Bruce’s chest. 

“Is that a challenge, Robin?” Dick smacks his pouty red lips, swollen from sucking on Bruce like he’s candy. 

“Depends. Do you _want_ to challenge me, Batman? Wanna see how good I can do?” Bruce lets out an exhale and leans back against the headboard, body relaxing, in too deep to not just give in. 

“You’re running this show, little bird.” And Dick just _grins,_ looks like Bruce just gave him the best present in the _world,_ mouth laced in sex and tinged with his giddiness. He sits up, braces himself with his knees on either side of Bruce’s thighs. Bruce chews through his lip, raking eyes down Dick’s bare midsection, where the edge of his two-sizes-too-small top now sits. Sharp, jutting hip bones poke out of the top of the obscenely tight scaled shorts, and Bruce wants to bite them, drag his teeth over the ridges and lick between the dips. 

Dick palms the front of his shorts, which conceal absolutely nothing, so tight they may as well be part of his skin. The outline of his cock is so prominent, Bruce is sure he can see the tip peaking out over his low-slung bikini line. 

“‘M gonna ride you, B.” And _that_ snaps Bruce’s attention away from Dick’s crotch. He tilts his head up so quickly, Bruce worries briefly that his neck might snap. Despite what Dick may say and how Dick may act, there’s absolutely no denying his status as a textbook definition pillow princess. Half of their nights, Dick spends them being plowed into near suffocation, face down into the many down-feather pillows crowding Bruce’s bed. The other half, he’s got his knees tucked up against his chest with Bruce’s head between his legs, teeth marks snagging through the fabric of all of Bruce’s pillowcases. And _oh,_ it’d be an absolute sin to think Bruce would ever _dare_ complain about it, complain about the concept of Dick laying with his chest flat against the mattress muffling shouts into the sheets. But it’s a common staple in their routine, so Dick venturing out of his spoiled, princess lifestyle’s got Bruce’s head spinning and neck snapping undone. 

“Are. You sure?” Bruce needs to verify, just to be 100% sure. And Dick’s humming slow, running his hands down the front fastens of his vest, popping them out of place with lazy, deliberate movements. 

“You did say it was my show, didn’t you boss?” The vest falls open but Dick leaves it on, red matching the flush crawling beautifully up his chest. The edges of the fabric brush against pert nipples, and Bruce wants to press his thumbs against them, roll them between the tips of his fingers until Dick’s squirming, panting with his mouth parted around his whines. 

But clearly, Dick isn’t going to let him, because he’s doing it himself, rolling one nipple in his left hand, other reaching forward and pressing back against Bruce’s mouth. 

“Say ‘ah’, B.” Dick says it with a smile on his face, and smugness shouldn’t look so _good_ on someone, but it makes Bruce part his lips without question, Dick pressing his fingers against the flat of his tongue. He sucks, and Dick looks outright pleased with himself. 

When Dick pulls his hand back, Bruce just stares at him, fingers shiny and glistening in the dim lighting of the bedroom. 

“Dick, you’re not-” As enjoyable as finger sucking is for both parties involved, Bruce insists they retain some sense of realism. “That’s not going to be-” But Dick’s already hooking his fingers in the waistband of his shorts, eyebrow cocked up so it pokes out from beneath the edge of the domino. 

“Relax, I’m not stupid. Why do you think it took so long for me to get ready for bed tonight? Other than trying to squeeze myself into this thing. This-” Dick wiggles his fingers. “-is just for precautionary measures.” Bruce looks up at the ceiling, tries to get his vision to go straight. 

Dick’s shimmying in his lap, shorts starting to slide down his hips, when Bruce catches his waist and holds him to a stop. 

“What’s up? You okay?” 

“Keep them on.” 

“What?” Bruce fixes Dick down with a stare, hard and stoney like the kind he’d ordinarily reserve for dire circumstance.. Bruce supposes, this constitutes as a dire circumstance.

“Keep them on, Robin.” He says it like an order, and he see’s Dick’s body roll with the tone of his voice, short exhale escaping from his nose. 

“Mm. Kinky. I can do that.” So Dick drops the hem of his shorts, lets them stay half rolled down around his hips. He flips himself so his back is to Bruce, and leans down, flat of his chest pressed against Bruce’s legs. Fingers immediately trace the bumps of Dick’s spine, hands curling around the dip of his waist, and cup the swell of his ass. Bruce blinks and lets out an agitated sigh. 

Dick turns his head so he’s looking back at him from over his shoulder, has the gall to give him this demure look, half lidded around pupils blown so wide, they’ve eclipsed the blue of his eyes. 

“Watch and make sure I’m doing it right, okay Batman?” Bruce hisses back in response. Dick pats one of Bruce’s hands that’s cupping his ass and traces the hem of the shorts with his finger tip. 

“Help me out and hold this out of the way for me, will you?” Bruce is positive Dick is perfectly capable of doing this himself, but what kind of person would Bruce be if he refused? 

Bruce hooks his finger on the edge of Dick’s shorts and about nine conflicting emotions cross his mind to feel. He hates that the fabric still feels exactly the same as it did years and years ago, when he used to have peel it from Dick’s body in a completely medical fashion. And here he is, doing it again, and yeah, Bruce has contingency plans lined up until the day he dies (and even after the day he dies, seeing as, in this field of work, one can never be too careful) but this. This was not part of any of them. 

But then Dick wiggles his ass, and Bruce reduces those nine emotions to one desperate need to rub himself off, and just pulls the fabric aside like he’s been asked. It stretches open, and Bruce gets an eyeful of flushed pink entrance, moist and clearly rubbed a little raw. 

“Told you I already took care of it earlier.” There’s an amused lilt in the way Dick says it, and Bruce just watches the way his fingers dance down the cleft of his ass and trace the edge of his hole. He has to reach down with his free hand, grip the base of his cock hard, because the initial sight of Dick’s finger sliding in, pre-slicked and open, _god, oh,_ it takes a firm grip and a piercing bite to his lip to keep himself from splattering all over the green scales around Dick’s ass. 

Dick’s spine curls, arch feline and practiced, and Bruce isn’t sure if it really feels _that_ good, or if Dick is just incredible at putting on a show. The moan that comes with it sounds fucked out and gone, and Dick’s head’s dipping forward, brushing against the inside of Bruce’s leg. He watches as Dick starts pumping his hand, pulling his finger in and out, and Bruce has to stop himself from thrusting into the air to match his rhythm. 

“Am I doing it okay, Boss?” Dick looks back at him over his shoulder again, flush all the way across his neck and up to his cheekbones. Moisture’s collected on the waterline of his lashes, glassing up his eyes until they look nearly unfocused. Bruce licks his lips and groans soft, smooths a hand down the back of Dick’s thigh. 

“Doing it just like I taught you, Robin.” And Dick half way laughs, half way moans as he hooks his fingers deep, and it’s the best sound Bruce has ever heard. 

“Want it now, B. Can’t wait anymore.” Dick pulls his hand out and tilts his hips down, rubs himself on the tip of Bruce’s swollen head, and Bruce feels his eyes cross beneath his eye lids. 

“ _You_ can’t wait anymore?” Dick’s so far fucked, he _giggles,_ swirls his hips around until Bruce is trembling. 

“Aww, Brucie, are you getting impatient?” And Bruce loses it. He raises his hand and brings it down, hard, and the crack of skin is impressive, almost as impressive as the scream it rips from Dick’s throat. 

“No names on patrol, remember, Robin?” And Dick’s shaking, and when he sits up and turns back around to face Bruce again, Bruce thinks he might be shaking, too. Dick’s flushed from his chest all the way to the roots of his hair, deliciously pink all the way across. His lips are wet and rosey, teeth marks divots imprinting on the skin. He licks across his mouth and grins again, bright, white, the kind that’s haunted Bruce’s dreams for years, years, and years. 

“Yes, sir.” And Bruce doesn’t even get time to react, because Dick’s rocking himself down, head of Bruce’s cock pushing in _good,_ tight, tight _tight,_ and he has to knock his head back into the headboard, drag his nails down the side of Dick’s hips, and moans, practically cries, directly at the ceiling. 

“God, _baby.”_ Dick says it incoherently, one hand in his hair and his head thrown back. “B, _fuck._ ” Bruce claws at the skin of Dick’s hips, nails scratching over scarred tissue. He brings him in close, and rocks up into him at a pace that’s so desperate, Bruce can’t see straight. Only sees red, yellow, and green and the sparkle of blue eyes. 

“So pretty.” Bruce says it into Dick’s shoulder, biting down on the rise of his collar bone, worrying the skin between his teeth. 

“Yeah?” Dick bounces himself faster, swollen pink cock slipped so far out of his shorts, it’s trailed a sticky line of precum against his abdomen. 

“Always. Always such a pretty Robin.” And it fucks Bruce up that he’s admitting that, but in the moment, he doesn’t care, because Dick’s crying in his lap, thighs spasming and cock weeping. 

“God, _Batman._ ” Later, Bruce is sure he’ll feel grossed out over how that makes him feel, but in the moment, it’s got him banging a fist against the headboard and pressing a heavy palm against Dick’s back to pull him in closer.

“Robin- _Dick-_ I’m-” 

“Yeah, _yeah,_ do it, right inside me, _come on._ ” 

Bruce holds him down, bites right into the line of his shoulder, and comes. Then Dick’s half-laughing, half-moaning again, the prettiest sound in the world, bounces himself down as Bruce rides it out, come spilling over the rim of his ass and pooling onto Bruce’s lap. Bruce yanks Dick’s shorts down and grabs at his cock, angry red and neglected, and Dick nearly falls backwards, shouting as Bruce rubs his thumb into the tip and spills fluid all the way down the line of his shaft. 

Dick’s coming like that, over the edge of Bruce’s fist, all over the green spandex of his shorts, and all across both their stomachs. Bruce looks at him like one would regard a god, takes in the part of his mouth, the way his tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth while he rides it out. As he’s coming down, it’s back to the half-laugh, half-moan, and Bruce feels his heart warm, and it’s that feeling again, that feeling of being thawed from the inside out. 

Dick slumps against his chest, and they stick together grossly, but neither of them can be fucked to care. Bruce rubs his less-soiled hand down Dick’s back, against every bump of his spine. Dick hums in response, traces nonsense shapes against Bruce’s chest. 

They’re silent for a bit, until Dick quips,

“You’re a disgusting, disgusting old man.” Bruce actually has the audacity to be offended.

“This was _your_ idea.” 

“I actually wasn’t expecting it to affect you as much as it did. Disgusting. No wonder you made me wear these shorts. Wait till I tell Jason-”

“This has _nothing_ to do with _Jason._ ” Dick looks up at him with puppy eyes, lips popped out in a pout. 

“Aww, so am I the only Robin for you?” 

“We’re _never_ doing this _again._ ” 

“...But I wanted to try being Batman next time.” 

_“Robin.”_

Dick shivers. 


End file.
